blank pages
by ropetan
Summary: then think of what you did, and how i hope to god he was worth it. [ douchebag x various. ]
1. in character (( douchebag x stan marsh

_"At the end of a hard day at the office, _

_I like to slip into lingerie and high heels."_

**_- Unknown Source._**

* * *

Even if you had smacked him upside the head and told him he's gone crazy, it wouldn't do a _thing_ for Stan Marsh. He'd tell you calling him _crazy_ was an understatement. He knows he's practically staring in _awe_ of his male companion, now dressed from head to toe in the get-up of a...a _girl_.

If anyone said this kid still looked like a boy, he'd have to beat the stupid out of them.

Douchebag was rocking it better than any girl could ever _dream_, with his hips swaying, his short skirt flowing in the wind as he made his way around town. Stan had never noticed that his friend could be so cute, so innocent and adorable looking underneath his usual scruffy, casual look. That was the problem. Douchebag wasn't supposed to be cute and innocent looking to him - he was _only_ supposed to be Douchebag, a dumb and childish nine-year-old boy just like him.

He'd always been tolerant of everyone, save for a select few, but that butterfly feeling in his gut that appeared whenever the new kid just so much as glanced his way made him shiver. Was it only because he looked like a girl at this moment? What if when Douchebag took off the wig, the makeup, and the outfit, all these weird bubbly feelings went away? That must be the case, he can't just develop feelings for him out of absolute nowhere.

Right? _Right._

Snapped out of his thoughts by a sudden girly giggle, Stan perks up in confusion. Who in the hell had made _that_ noise...? It couldn't have been Douchebag, could it? No boy in the **_universe_** could have it so spot-on, not even Kenny! No way it was him. But there it goes again, from the very source he thought it couldn't have made it's way out of.

The other boy has his hand over his mouth, attempting to stifle the feminine laughter that's threatening to spill out in glee. His other hand is held close to his chest, brightly painted fingernails gently handling the fabric of his top. Oh, _no. _

"...D-Dude," Stan begins, forcing back a gulp. "You okay?"

_I'm not gay_, he has to tell himself as he witnesses another fit of girly giggles directed his way. _I'm not gay_.

"You keep staring at me, it's so _weird_." He's never heard the new kid's voice before, with him being unusually silent even when questioned about things that demand answers. However, it's not exactly his voice. It's pitched up and cutesy, making him want to melt.

"I-I wasn't..." Flat out fucking lie, screaming it's dishonesty. He'd been staring the entire time, watching the movement of Douchebag's skirt every time the wind caught it, taking mental notes of how his hips moved with every step taken. _I'm not gay. I have a girlfriend. I'm not gay!_ Goddamn you, Douchebag, goddamn you and your gift to make that queasy feeling return. A fist instantly clenches at his side. _Don't puke!_

"Silly Stan, I can tell you're lying!" Fluttering his eyelashes, Douchebag crosses his arms across his chest and adds the extra kick of popping his hip out. _No, no, no - you need to stop right there new kid, you need to stop. Please._ His eyes are so bright and beautiful, his body so - no! _Goddammit!_ This ability to charm him was unlike any other, to make him think these impure thoughts...He had to be some kind of sorcerer, sorceress...enchanting him like a witch who wants every man to do her bidding. Princess Kenny needed to flash the goods, all Douchebag needed to do was walk and they'd all come running like a pack of wild animals. Ugh, fuck him.

"I wasn't! I swear, du-" He's shushed by his companion, a finger gently pressed against his lips. The look in the new kid's eyes is unreadable, full of void and nothing as he leans forward and gently nibbles on Stan's ear.

_"I like it."_

* * *

Bluh. So that was the first go-round. Not amazing, not bad...terrible...Lmao. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! This entire thing is just going to be one-shots featuring Douchebag and a lot of canon characters! Male or female, doesn't matter to me. There might be a lot of Stan...since he's my favourite companion, haha. Feel free to request something? xoxo


	2. crush ((one-sided stan marsh x douchebag

Author's Note ;; I don't know what I'm doing...? I just saw this morning during breakfast that this story had gotten a Favourite and a Follow! I raved like mad about it all morning, I'm sure my friends were annoyed with me. xD Anyway, here's this thing because my motivation has been partially kicked back into me!

Just a little thing I'm putting here to let everyone know that I will be referring to Douchebag as that name itself, the New Kid, and the name I gave my Douchebag. Dietrich "Dirk" Bowie. It just makes it a little less awkward in chapters like these where he's told people his name and they know it. This shouldn't change the any of the story lines whatsoever, I hope. I also hope giving him a name doesn't drive anyone away, I just wanted to make this a little easier on my wording.

With all of that being said - enjoy! 3

* * *

_"You encouraged my desire,_

_then you put the arrow in my back."_

- **The Boy Who Murdered Love, Diana Vickers  
**

* * *

It was believed that situations similar to these only happened in Hollywood movies. Couples running for their right to be together, caring for each other on their own, becoming adults at early ages just to love. They'd do anything for each other, fight, bleed. _Die_ for one another. Stan had always grown-up thinking he'd never have his fairy tale story written like Cinderella's, or Romeo and Juliet's. He had always thought of himself settling down with Wendy, everyone accepting their relationship, then going off to have kids or whatever else came their way. It would be the usual husband and wife relationship, kind of boring, but he guessed that was how it always turned out. A life with Wendy could be exciting, being married to the girl he'd had a crush on since he could ever remember.

Eventually, he began to daydream about a big house with a white picket fence. Stan almost laughed at the time of how typical it was. _Everyone_ had the dream of a house with the white picket fence, dog running in the yard as wife cooked dinner and husband did yard work. It was the picture perfect American dream, to have a life so settled down. He imagined coming home from work, petting the dog as it trotted over to him, opening the front door with the biggest grin, loosening his tie - that made him laugh too, he can't even tie one to begin with - and calling out to his loving wife, "Honey, I'm home!"

It took him a few moments to compose himself after that thought, thankful that he was alone to laugh about it all. While he thought it was completely ridiculous to think things would end up like that, he entertained every thought that involved him and his future. Stan gave a shake of the head, then turned his attention back to the daydream begging to be finished. He had it a million times and it was still nice to rewind every now and then.

The older, more attractive version of himself - as far as he believes - removes his shoes, remembering his wife can't stand allowing them on the clean, white carpet. He sets them to the side next to her...those weren't her shoes, were they? He scratches his head, wondering why in the place where his wife's cute little flats would usually reside, lay somewhat scuffed Converse. He took note of the change in scenery, but didn't linger on the detail too long before he was making his way through the hallways. There were pictures of him and his wife there before, one he liked especially where he had his arm around Wendy's shoulder and she seemed to be upset with him. That was gone, they were all gone. What the hell...? Again, he tries to shrug off that detail but takes a small mental note of it to carry onto the kitchen. He would surely find his wife making dinner, as usual.

"Wendy, I'm -" Stan rounds the corner, ready to throw his arms around the woman then spin her around in a great big circle. She's not there, nothing is on the stove. It's all blank, everything has changed. He blinks. A gulp, "Hey, I'm home!" He shouts, hoping for a response anywhere in the house. It didn't matter if it came from the goddamn bathroom, he just needed to know she was home and this entire thing hadn't gone terribly wrong.

The response he receives in return is downright unexpected, if you're saying it in the least terms. The shout back was a male voice, low, somewhat sick sounding. "I'm in the living room, fucknut!" Oh yeah, that definitely wasn't Wendy. He jumps from his place, instantly at alert and began to run towards the source. It sounds familiar, though he's sure it's not heard very often. Stan rarely hears this voice and in addition he's _surprised_ whenever it's spoken out. Who in God's name was shouting back to him that wasn't Wendy if he heard it before?

"Did you bring food back? There's nothing left the in the fridge." There it is again, closer now. "Are you playing the mute-boyfriend game with me? That's my thing, Marsh. Cut it out." Mute. Boyfriend.

Fuck.

Reality smacks him with more force than his mother could ever dream of doing, making him sit up stick straight from his position in a cold, nervous sweat. That was..._oh._ _Oh my God... _He ran his hands down his face, gripping his bangs in the process and nearly tearing the hair he handled right out. Stan thought that this stupid little crush on his friend had gone away in the fourth grade! Right where it started, he thought he had managed to kill it... Ugh, **_fuck!_**_ Mother help me, I've been cursed._

"I have got to get _over_ him..."


End file.
